


our arms are always open

by PluralForce



Category: Kamen Rider Build
Genre: Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-Canon, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21829054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PluralForce/pseuds/PluralForce
Summary: After everything is over, they all gravitate back together, like a magnetic force is pulling them back towards Nascita.
Relationships: Banjou Ryuuga/Himuro Gentoku/Isurugi Misora/Kiryuu Sento/Sawatari Kazumi/Takigawa Sawa
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	our arms are always open

**Author's Note:**

  * For [C-chan (1001paperboxes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001paperboxes/gifts).



> When I was working on this I jokingly called it “group hugs: the fic” because that’s basically what it is and frankly I think everyone deserves it, including the audience. Happy holidays and I hope you like this!

The man who visits Nascita a few times a week to huddle in a corner and frantically type away on a small computer seems incredibly familiar to Misora somehow, but she can never quite place him. He does look like that rock star Dad loves, but no, the air about him is too different, that can’t be it. She’s asked him several times if they’ve met before; the second time she asked, he gave an awkward laugh and said, “Maybe in another life.” That doesn’t really make sense to her, because he’s also let it slip that he’s a scientist, and aren’t scientists not supposed to believe in unprovable things like past lives?

(He didn’t let it slip that he’s a scientist—she somehow _knew_ , could somehow _tell_ and he’d seemed surprised that she already knew. How did she know?)

The man with the braids who comes in with the scientist sometimes also looks familiar, and she doesn’t have the rock star excuse this time. She’s managed to get their names out of them after a few weeks—Sento and Banjou, names that ping in the back of her mind.

Today when she serves them coffee, they’re huddled together over that little computer and muttering back and forth about something. It’s unprofessional to ask, but curiosity gets the best of her.

“What are you writing?” she asks. “One of your science things?”

Sento looks surprised at the question. “Oh, uh, no, I’m actually working on a script. A TV script.”

“Ooh, neat! Can I be in it as the cute, charming cafe owner?” She giggles and twirls around, as if to show off her appeal.

Banjou laughs. “You already are.” There’s a fondness in his eyes—and in Sento’s, for that matter—that seems deeply nostalgic.

“Oh, uh.” She wasn’t expecting that. “If you’re being serious, I’m flattered!” she says, recovering quickly.

Another customer calls for her and she hurries off, still trying to convince herself it’s just an ordinary exchange with ordinary customers.

——

Since Sento doesn’t legally exist and Banjou doesn’t want to commit identity fraud on his double (whom Banjou is very pointedly _not thinking about_ ), for now they’re staying in the cheapest, shabbiest apartment they could find with a landlord who doesn’t ask questions, using what money they can scrounge up working odd jobs. It’s not an ideal situation, but it is what it is until they can figure out something more permanent. Last time around, Evolt was the one who got the amnesiac Sento a fake identity so he could get the work he needed, and that’s obviously not an option for them anymore.

Honestly, the apartment and the jobs aren’t what Banjou cares about. It’s the part where nobody knows them. He knows—has learned by now—that heroism shouldn’t need a reward, but after everything that happened it still hurts to go back to Nascita and be greeted by a Misora who doesn’t know them as anything more than semi-regular customers. Sawa and Kazumin and even Gentoku won’t remember them anymore either. None of them will remember the bonds they forged through fire or the quick stolen kisses fueled by the adrenaline of I-hope-we-don’t-die. They’d all grown, well, close as a group. And now…

Was it worth it? Damn right it was. He’d do it all again if he had to. Everyone’s alive, after all. Still doesn’t make it easy.

In the quiet, dim apartment, Sento leans against Banjou, head resting on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Sento murmurs.

Banjou bites his lip and says quietly, “Yeah. Me too.”

It hasn’t been that long since they got here, but they’d probably have gone crazy by now without each other.

——

A week later, Misora is out shopping when a large gold bangle catches her eye. She tries it on, on a whim, and when she slips it onto her wrist, everything comes back to her.

The war. Versage. Katsuragi. The thing that was wearing her father’s face. The increasing desperation of the situation.

Sento. Banjou. Sawa. Grease—Kazumin. Himuro. Their ragtag band of soldiers, going up against forces much larger than them, slowly falling.

She puts the bangle back and runs out of the shop, turning the corner just in time to burst into tears.

How could she have forgotten? How could she ever have forgotten things so important? She knows it was a different world, a different place—but that’s no excuse. She’s never going to forget again.

She gets back to the shop early and waves off her father’s concerned questions. Then she settles into her shift and waits.

In the evening, when no one else is there, Sento and Banjou walk in. She immediately runs over and hugs both of them with all her strength.

“Huh—?”

“Wha—?!”

She ignores their noises of protest and pulls them closer. “I’m glad you’re both alive,” she says, unable to keep the emotion from her voice.

They both relax into her embrace as they realize what’s happening. They don’t say anything; they don’t need to. They just stand there, hugging, all three of them, until Misora’s bewildered father comes out from the back room and demands to know what’s going on.

——

Misora expertly works her father’s emotions as she convinces him the two of them have nowhere to go and need to stay in the empty space in Nascita’s basement; Sento has to say he’s impressed.

The downstairs area still exists, but now it’s a regular basement instead of a hiding space, and it’s mainly used for storage. There’s a spare bed in one of the rooms that Misora makes up for them and practically forces them to stay in instead of their run-down apartment. Sento sits on the bed next to Banjou and wonders if this was a good idea.

After her father goes up to the apartment above the cafe to turn in for the night, Misora sneaks in to talk to them privately for a bit.

She sits down on the bed across from them and gives them both kisses on the cheek and says, “Welcome home, both of you,” and just like that, Sento doesn’t regret a thing.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” Banjou says, voice thick with emotion.

“Of course I did,” Misora says, like it’s obvious. “You two deserve a place here.”

Sento doesn’t know if she means _here_ as in Nascita or _here_ as in this world. It doesn’t really matter, in the end. It’s the same thing.

Sento looks her in the eye. “Are you sure about this?” he asks. “You looked pretty happy, before you remembered.”

He has to ask, of course he has to ask, because he remembers what it’s like to have that hole in your memory, and what it’s like to be blissfully unaware of all the bad things in the world. Is it right, for her to have traded in that innocence for memories of a war that another version of her experienced? Was she happier not knowing? Was _he_ happier, before he knew who he really was? Is there even a point in trying to quantify happiness like it’s a number in a theorem?

Misora leans back and ponders. “Hmm, well, I was happy before, true.” She grins at them. “But I’m happier knowing that two of my beloved people don’t have to fight anymore.”

And with that Sento almost bursts into tears, because of course she would make it seem so simple and straightforward.

Banjou gives him a light, playful smack on the shoulder. “Stop overthinking and just accept it, idiot.”

Misora takes both of their hands. “Welcome home,” she repeats. “We’re safe now. All of us. Including you.”

Sento hadn’t realized until now how much he’d needed to hear that.

——

Sawa’s interest in the Kamen Rider urban legends is more of a hobby than anything. The details are fascinating to follow, because there are so many different rumors going back years or even decades. She has an article that she’s slowly been crafting in her free time, purely for her own eyes, because no self-respecting newspaper would ever buy that story. She can’t let the subject go, though. The sense of mysterious heroism surrounding it all taps into her innate journalist’s need to _understand_.

Recently, she’s been getting flashes, images of a Kamen Rider she swears she’s seen before but can’t find any evidence of. It’s a blue and red Rider, not split down the middle like W supposedly is but split more into bits and pieces. She must’ve seen it in a picture somewhere before, but it’s nowhere in her saved documents, nowhere on the internet.

She mentions her frustration to Himuro over dinner one night. She’s only been seeing him for a few weeks, but she has a good feeling about this one. He’s quite the gentleman, quiet and polite and serious, though she always feels like he’s holding something back.

He looks her up and down seriously when she mentions the apparently non-existent Kamen Rider.

“If you can’t find evidence of this Rider, that must mean he’s new enough that no one else has spotted him yet,” he says.

“You know, you’re the first person I’ve mentioned this to who hasn’t just said I’m making things up,” Sawa says with a sigh. “I appreciate the support, but I don’t even remember if _I’ve_ spotted him yet. If I have, I certainly don’t remember it. I just wish I had some kind of lead to go on.”

Himuro considers this. “I seem to remember some people talking about Kamen Rider in a cafe I was visiting the other day. It’s called Nascita. Maybe someone might know something there.”

Well, of course people are talking about Kamen Rider, it’s an urban legend for a reason, she’s about to say—but something about the name Nascita itches at the back of her mind. Like it’s important somehow. The same way this mysterious Rider is important.

She’ll have to go there and find some answers, then. She’ll get to the bottom of this if it’s the last thing she does as a journalist.

——

It all comes back to Kazumi quickly, after visiting the cafe for the first time. Misora is the first trigger—he remembers another version of her, an internet idol, and then he remembers her crying over _his death_ and then he remembers _dying_ and after that the whole thing rushes back to him. It’s not pleasant.

He takes a whole day off to recover from the memory of how it felt to dissolve into dust; he hides in his room, not talking to anyone. Shuuya, Masaru, and Shoukichi (all of whom he also saw dissolve into dust and die) are beside themselves with worry. When he finally emerges from his hiding place, the three of them dote on him like a trio of housewives—making him food, demanding he rest, telling him to take some time off from working the farm.

He’d normally be giving them such a hard time for this, but it’s just. It’s so good to have them _back_. Alive and happy and unharmed. This is so much more than he thought he’d ever have again.

Shuuya catches him watching them and turns on him with worry. “Boss? Are you sure you’re okay?”

Kazumi gives him a faint smile. “Just thinking about how grateful I am to have you three here,” he says quietly.

“Awww, Boss!”

And before he knows it, the three of them are practically mobbing him with affection.

“Hey, watch it, stop it, get off me!”

——

When Sawa ducks into Nascita with her best “normal person and definitely not a reporter” face on, it immediately feels familiar. Huh. Maybe she’s been here before?

She orders a coffee from the girl at the counter and looks around for a good place to sit. As she does, she passes by a table whose occupant has obviously stepped out for a moment—it’s got a computer and what looks to be some kind of filming script set out. She’s about to pass by, but the words “Kamen Rider” in the script catch her eye, and she just can’t help herself.

Well, she says to herself as she picks it up, if they really didn’t want anyone to read it, they wouldn’t have left it out like this, right?

The script is clearly right in the middle of some complicated story. There’s some kind of war going on, and Kamen Rider Build—yes, that’s the Rider she’s been remembering—and the walls, she knows those too—all of this is so _familiar_ —and wait, there in the story, that’s _her_ , and she remembers it happening, but how can she remember it if it’s just in a story—right, that’s right, there was another world, wasn’t there, and they were going to—

Sawa sets the script back down and sits in the other chair at the table as the rest of it starts coming back to her, and she waits.

After what feels like forever but is probably no time at all, a young man with black hair comes out from the back, followed by another young man with braids, deep in discussion with each other—yes, these are Sento and Banjou, she _knows_ them now.

Sento stops short when he sees her sitting at the table, eyes wide. Banjou runs into him and grumbles, then sees her and stops too.

Sawa smiles widely. “It’s good to see you two again,” she says. “I’m a little hurt that you didn’t call me as soon as you knew the plan worked.”

She’s not, of course, but it’s worth it to see the looks on their faces.

She laughs and gets up to pull them both into a hug, which they return, still stunned.

When Misora sees what’s happening, she gasps and almost drops the mug of coffee in her attempts to set it down and go join the group hug.

——

Having Sawa there makes some things so much easier, Sento realizes, because Sawa is a reporter with capital-C Connections, and it only takes a few discreet calls to get Sento and Banjou some new fake identities. Now Sento can get the science lab job of his dreams without worrying about his lack of papers causing problems.

She celebrates their newfound legal existence by buying drinks and then dragging out a couple of mattresses into the basement for a sleepover. When Sento questions her on it, Sawa grins and says, “Hey, it’s not my fault we don’t have a bed that can fit all four of us.” Which is… fair, Sento supposes?

Certainly, they’d all spent a lot of time living in this basement together, especially near the end when things had gotten bad, but this will be the first time doing it without the threat of war looming over their heads. They all cuddle up together and just enjoy the simple fact that they can do this once more.

“Really, though, a script?” Sawa says, laughing as she flips through Sento’s drafts. She hasn’t let this go since she got here. “Sento, I love you, but you really need to work on your writing skills.”

“Huh? What’s wrong with it?” Sento asks, unoffended—Sawa is a writer by trade, after all.

“The writing is too stiff,” Sawa explains. “You write like a scientist. Which makes sense, because you are one, but it doesn’t flow naturally this way. And your pacing’s off, too—you can’t just tell everything exactly in the order it happened, you have to consider what’s best for the kind of program you want to create.” She pauses. “Also, there are some things you’re missing because neither of you were there for them. I can help fill you in.”

“Uh…” Wow, that’s a lot at once. “Okay. Thanks.”

She grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you make it good. Just trust the expert.”

Sento laughs. “Thanks, Sawa.”

They settle in for the night. Sleep comes quickly for Sento, but it’s not an easy, peaceful sleep. His dreams are filled with pain and fear and death, and when he wakes with a start in the middle of the night it takes him a minute to remember where he is and why.

The others all look peaceful, cuddling and holding hands in their sleep. He burns the image of them like that into his mind, making himself remember that this is his reality now, not that dream.

——

Kazumi is drawn back to Nascita again, like a magnetic force. It’s going to be awkward as hell, since he knows he’s going to be no good at acting like he just has some crush on Misora instead of remembering going through a war that never happened here, but—he can’t just not go back.

Even as he’s entering the cafe again, he still hasn’t figured out what he’s going to say to her when he sees her, but it turns out to not matter, because as soon as she sees him she stops like a deer in the headlights, and he realizes she _knows_ him like he _knows_ her.

He’s not sure if that makes it easier or harder.

He forces a smile that he’s sure is more pained than happy. “Good to see you again, Mii-tan.”

And just like that, she breaks. Ignoring the other bewildered customers in the cafe, she runs up to him and starts crying into the front of his shirt.

“How could you— _die_ like that, you idiot—” she gasps out in between her tears.

He puts an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says gently. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

He’s not sorry for the sacrifice he made, is the thing. But he is sorry that she had to see it, and that it affected her so deeply. But also—happy, that she cares enough about him to cry over him.

Eventually, Misora pulls away and wipes her tears away. “Don’t ever do that again,” she says with a sniff.

“I hope I don’t have to,” Kazumi says sincerely.

She brightens. “Oh! You should come downstairs. There are some people I think will appreciate seeing you again.”

Well, that’s something he hadn’t even considered when coming here, but he’s not going to say no.

He goes down the stairs behind Misora to see Sento, Banjou, and Sawa deep in discussion over something. Until this moment, he had no idea how badly he’d needed to see them again, but their faces fill some deep hole inside him that he hadn’t realized was there.

They look up at the sound of a second set of footsteps on the stairs. Kazumi puts on his best casual pose and says, “It’s a great day for not being dead, huh, guys?”

They all gape at him. He descends the rest of the way down the stairs and waits.

Banjou is the first to react. “You!” he shouts angrily. He runs over and throws a very obvious, very sloppy punch. Kazumi ducks it easily.

“You’re getting sloppy, mister pro fighter,” he taunts.

“Shut up,” Banjou says, without any real bite behind it. “How could you go and…”

“I did what I had to do,” Kazumi says bluntly, because really, they’re doing this now? “War means sacrifices. Or did you really think we could get through without anyone dying? I know I can’t have been the only one, either.”

Banjou stops short at that and looks away. Yep. Hit the nail on the head.

Sento approaches slowly, somber. Sawa follows after him.

“It’s good to have you back here,” Sento says. “How did you—remember?”

Kazumin puts a hand over his heart. “I saw Mii-tan’s face and it all came flooding back to me,” he says dramatically.

Banjou snorts. “Idiot.” He swallows heavily and leans over to pull Kazumi into a rough half-hug. That breaks the tension, and soon Sento, then Sawa, then Misora are joining them.

Kazumi grins and ruffles all of their hair, and says quietly, “How lucky I am, to have so many people who care about me.”

Soon they pull him over to the giant nest of a bed they’ve made in his absence, because of _course_ they have, and they all exchange kisses and things begin to feel right again.

——

Sento gets a real job in a lab, and it’s everything he ever hoped for and more. Knowing that finally he can use his love of science to help people instead of hurting them—it’s amazing. The others keep commenting about how much he’s brightened up.

Banjou finds work in legitimate fighting competitions and starts making a name for himself, and Sento can see that he’s happier now, too.

It’s nice always having Nascita to return to. Sure, they aren’t all huddled down there all the time; Misora has her space she shares with her dad, and Sawa has her own apartment, and Kazumi has his farm to go back to. But the main restaurant area of Nascita becomes a communal space again. Sento and Banjou work on their scripts there when they have off time; Sawa sometimes comes in with the excuse of needing to work on an article; Kazumi comes in with his trio of friends when they’re taking a break.

And at night, when they can, when they’re in the mood, they gravitate to their hideout downstairs. It’s comforting, being able to have everyone so close, knowing that this place is always welcome to any of them. Sento knows, logically, that everyone is safe now, but knowing it and _feeling_ it are two different things, and some days it’s not until the others come down the stairs to spend the night that Sento can breathe a sigh of relief that they’re alive and okay. He can see it in the rest of their eyes, too, that that’s why they keep coming back here. They exchange kisses and sometimes when they know Misora’s father won’t come down to interrupt they engage in other things too.

It’s on one of the nights when all five of them have managed to gather downstairs when Sawa brings it up.

“You know, I feel like I should’ve brought this up before, but I wasn’t sure if my suspicions were right,” she says. “I think you guys should know, I’ve been seeing Himuro Gentoku for a while now.”

Sento tears his gaze away from his computer and glances at her, suddenly not at all caring about his project. “Gentoku? As in, _seeing_ him?” He can’t deny that he would like it if the final member of their old team could join them again, but approaching the prime minister’s son would be impossible for most of them, or so he thought. Should’ve remembered Sawa’s position as a reporter to be just the perfect person—but apparently she’s already beaten him to it.

Sawa nods. “Since before I remembered, even. Actually, he was the one who suggested I come to this place to investigate. And _that’s_ where my suspicions come in.”

“Does he remember?” Banjou asks.

“I’m not sure,” Sawa says thoughtfully. “He hasn’t said anything to indicate it. But he’s… different, from how he was when I met him the first time. He’s quiet, serious, dedicated, a gentleman.”

Kazumi shrugs. “Doesn’t sound too far off from what I remember. Although I’d throw _incurable dork_ in there too.”

“That’s because you didn’t know him before the war started,” Sawa retorts. “The first time I tried to get him for an interview, he tried to drag me back to a hotel room. He was honestly kind of a jerk.”

“Hmm,” Sento says. “Well—I know Pandora’s Box influenced some of his behavior before, but I don’t know if it would be enough to make such a drastic change…”

“Only one way to find out,” Misora says brightly.

——

Sawa wants to bring Gentoku to Nascita. She’s taken quite a liking to the place, it seems, and he’s glad for her, but he’s been avoiding going there for a reason. When he remembers some of the things he did to the people there… even if he had come to his senses near the end, well. He’s not sure how to face them, especially Sento, the only person who’s guaranteed to remember what he did in the other world, since Kiryuu Sento doesn’t exist in this one.

Still, Sawa is quite insistent, and he’s bad at saying no to her, so after a bit of pestering he finally caves.

He should’ve realized she was up to something. She was always more sly than he gave her credit for. He realizes this the instant he walks in and sees Kiryuu Sento, Banjou Ryuuga, and Sawatari Kazumi all gathered at the counter, watching him enter. Isurugi Misora flashes a smile at him as she serves another customer.

He can’t help it; he freezes. Once he realizes what he’s done, he tries to play it off by acting casual and approaching a table, but it’s too late. He knows they all saw the recognition in his eyes. He sits down and doesn’t look at them. Is vaguely aware of Sawa sitting down across the table from him.

“I had a feeling,” Sento says, a smile in his tone. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Is there a reason you kept avoiding us after you remembered?” Banjou asks, a quiet anger in his voice.

“I didn’t know if any of you would remember anything. And if you did, I didn’t know if you would want to see me,” Himuro admits. He finally looks over at the trio of former Riders.

Kazumi snorts. “Are you still on that? You know, that’s the same thing you did last time, and I thought you’d learned your lesson.”

“I did so many terrible things—”

“Gentoku,” Sento says quietly, cutting him off. “You do realize who you’re talking to, right?”

Right. Of course. Foolish of him, to keep thinking that the man who was once Katsuragi Takumi might ever care about that.

“The others filled me in on what happened at the end,” Kazumi says, sounding every bit like the soldier he used to be. “You died. Just like me. You _died_ trying to help everyone. You don’t think that’s atonement enough?”

A wry grin crosses Gentoku’s face. “Well. When you put it that way.”

“Right, glad we got this sorted,” Sawa says brightly. She stands up and grabs his hand, pulling him to his feet. “Now come over here and accept your punishment.”

“Punishment—” Gentoku is barely able to get the word out before he’s mobbed by hugs on all sides. “Hey— stop this—”

——

Sometimes Sento forgets he’s not at war anymore. His brain remembers, but his body forgets. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and can’t stop the old feelings of fear and despair from overflowing even though he knows it’s over.

It helps, sometimes, to have the others there beside him when he wakes. Other times he needs to retreat to another room by himself until he can get his head together. It’s good, to have both options available to him, like they all do.

He sees it in the others, too. Sometimes Banjou comes home from a match and looks beaten down and ragged even though he won. Misora occasionally spaces out and messes up a coffee order because her mind is somewhere else. Sawa has started, on occasion, to aggressively pursue political and war-oriented stories when that was nowhere near her specialty before. Kazumi will, at times, throw himself into working on the farm to the point where his trio of friends have to drag him away for a few hours to take a break. Gentoku confesses there are days when he can hardly even bear to look at his father.

These are the times when they’ll gravitate together, whichever ones are around, and steal brief embraces in dark corners and give words of reassurance. Sento starts cataloguing the feelings of all their kisses. Misora is gentle, and somewhat unsurprisingly, so is Banjou; Sawa is soft but assertive; Kazumi is more aggressive; Gentoku is withdrawn at first but surprisingly passionate. Sento wouldn’t trade any of them for the world.

And as they steal these moments, and take refuge in their private hideaway, the bad days gradually start to happen less and less. And they’re all reassured in the fact that, no matter what, they’ll always have each other.


End file.
